


Snowfall

by wirewrappedlily



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bah-humbug, M/M, and other assorted holiday sentiments.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wirewrappedlily/pseuds/wirewrappedlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Defiant of the sorrow and pain, there'd be happiness again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowfall

**Author's Note:**

> A very happy birthday to my angel and darling girl, Princess Chelsea. 
> 
> I've gone through five different stories trying to find one that's good enough, and none of them ever are. This is as close as I could get, love, and I hope it's good enough. Infinite x's and o's.

For many years, the first snowfall had brought bundling up into a vaguely toddler-shaped abominable snowman, squealing for joy as his mother picked him up and ran into the snow with him. 

They'd make a blanket fort and curl up with hot soup, watch _Frosty_ and _Rudolf_ , cuddled up for warmth. 

For many years, Stiles would beg to go carolling with his mom, only to fall asleep on the couch waiting for his dad to come home to go with them. 

Stiles would get to put up the first Christmas ornaments on the tree and he'd make up stories to make his mom laugh: the Star Trek spaceship being used by Santa as a plate for his Christmas cookies and the star being put into an engagement ring for Mickey Mouse to give the angel. 

When those years were past; when his mom wasn't there to bundle him up and give him Eskimo kisses when he told her his nose was cold; when his dad just worked later and later until it was pointless to even want to carol...that's when Stiles stopped caring for snow. He'd lie in bed while the cold tried to tease him out into the white. He'd close his eyes and wish for the old days back: wish that he didn't feel like a failure because he wasn't happy anymore. He'd wish there were someone who'd understand. Who he could tell those stupid stories to, and trust enough to let them see how those stories made him grieve all the harder. 

Eventually, it was Lydia he was wishing for, and then, eventually, it wasn't. Stiles came to wonder if Christmas was something that weighed on Derek. If it'd been a big deal in the Hale household. Did Christmas carols make his chest hurt? Did the nip of snow-cold make him think of snow angels and snowball fights? Did it hurt for him? 

The first winter after the pack really pulled together was the first quiet winter since Stiles had been plunged into the world of werewolves. It was the first winter in a while that the first snowfall harolded Stiles curling deeper under his blankets, hiding from the cold and the memories for as long as he could. 

He should have known that that, too, would change. 

Stiles burrowed into the solid wall of heat beside him, still in that place between asleep and awake, and hummed appreciatively as that wall of heat pulled him back further. 

He wasn't really awake, but he knew who his bedfellow was and that he needed to wake up fully before letting himself have another second of nestling in Derek's warmth, hiding from the cold and the pain. 

"You've smelt more and more of misery for weeks. The colder it got, the worse you felt." Derek murmured softly. "I remember your mom's socks...the reindeer ones...she used to sneak me Christmas cookies when I came in to the library." 

"I helped her make Christmas cookies…" 

"I know. She was proud of that." Derek's voice was too kind. Too good for it to be real, so Stiles didn't care about waking up anymore. He curled into Derek as much as he could, and enjoyed the dream while he had it. "My favourite were those candycane meringues. She told me those were your stroke of genius." Stiles sobbed a laugh, nodding even though he was under the blankets, "She used to bribe me with them. For every book I read aloud to her, she'd give me a cookie." 

Stiles stirred, something nagging at the back of his mind. "Were...were you…?"

"I stuttered whenever I read aloud--" Derek looked amused as Stiles launched himself upright, poking his head out messily and looking incredulously over his shoulder at his Alpha. "For a couple months, she had this terror child come in for me to read to him instead of putting him in day care." 

Derek's smile was teasing, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You...I remember that. I was...god, I was three?" 

"Three and five-eighths." Derek laughed. "How you got five-eighths, I will never know, but you weren't just three." 

"Well, of course not; I was hanging out with an older kid, I wasn't about to be some three-year-old baby." Stiles snorted. 

Derek pawed the blanket back off Stiles's head fully, sending it to pool around his upperarms. "You helped. Keeping you still and interested was like trying to herd cats, but...it helped. Your mom knew it would." 

"Did you remember me?" 

"You still smell a little like Christmas cookies, the same way she did." Derek's hand curled around his arm as that ached, "It took a while for me to place it, but I did. I was just thankful you didn't remember." 

Stiles looked at Derek through pained amber eyes, his sadness tainting the air, "Why are you telling me now, then?" 

"Scott was without a clue when I asked him if you were alright. And I...I didn't want to leave you alone when I miss her, too."

"If I hug you, can my throat remain intact?" Derek snorted, rolling his eyes as he pulled Stiles in and hugged him. "I'm sorry you miss her." Derek ducked his face down against his shoulder, and Stiles's hand only trembled a little as he let himself rub up between Derek's shoulderblades, hugging tighter. "Can I stay here?" 

Derek didn't answer, moving like he was laying Stiles down, huffing out a startled breath when Stiles took him with him. 

"Am I not dreaming?" Stiles whispered when Derek had manhandled them into a comfortable arrangement. 

"No, you aren't."

"You sure?" 

"I could maim you, prove it." 

"Thank you...for being here." 

Stiles felt Derek nuzzle into his shoulderblade, his arms tightening minutely as he heaved a sigh, "You're pack, Stiles. It's not right when you're miserable." 

Stiles drifted back to sleep, waking up to snow dusting the world outside, and his bed a warm sanctuary. Derek was sleeping half-on top of him, his arm curled under Stiles like he was a teddy bear, his face pressed closer into Stiles's neck than his shoulder now, their legs tangled together. Stiles took a deep breath and revelled in the absence of an ache, feeling so much better than he had in so long. Stiles slipped out from under Derek, padding to his drawer and slipping on a heavier hoodie, a pair of familiar socks in his hand before he knew it. Stiles looked back at Derek stirring on the bed, and down at the socks again before some inner dam snapped, and Stiles bent to pull them on, defiant of his own sorrow. His toes, now bedecked with little reindeer, scrunched against the carpet, and Stiles felt himself warm up like he'd been frozen for years. 

Derek groaned slightly as he pushed himself up and swung his legs off the bed, stretching. Stiles didn't give him long, grabbing his hand and pulling him downstairs, looking out the windows for as long as he could as they passed each one, almost running to the kitchen. Derek didn't seem surprised at all, a faint, wry smile on his lips as he threw himself into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, watching as Stiles half-made breakfast and half-hunted for ingredients for Christmas cookies. "We can get them after you eat, genius." 

Stiles tried and failed not to look too hopeful, "Are you going to stay?" Derek shot him a look, sighing dramatically as he rolled his eyes.

Derek stood up, walking with measured steps until he could take the box of Rice Krispies out of his hand, setting it on the counter and pushing into Stiles's space until he was pinned between Derek and the cupboard, Derek's head tilting and dipping until his lips met Stiles's, soft and warm and so innocently chaste that there was no way Derek Hale would be on the naughty list. "If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't have come." 

Three years later, Stiles stirred in the middle of the night, waking up to the siren call of snowfall. 

Grumbling, Derek roused enough to scowl at him, throw an arm over his chest, and drag him under the curve of Derek's body, flopping all his weight down in lieu of telling him that no, they would not be going outside at three in the morning to watch the first flakes fall. Stiles gave a feeble protest before he nuzzled under Derek's bulk, sighing back to sleep. Derek woke him with the dawn, and scoffed at his whining as he got him up, putting a cup of coffee in his hands while he got Stiles some semblance of dressed, herding him downstairs and outside. Stiles complained loudly about it being cold, going eagerly when Derek pulled him in under Derek's sweater, holding him close and closing the two halves of his jacket over Stiles's chest, resting his chin down on Stiles's shoulder while they watched the world turn white. 

Stiles woke up fully nestled in like that, yawning softly and leaning back against Derek's chest. They held hands when they walked back inside the house they'd built together, and sat wrapped up together in front of the electric fireplace with a cup of Irish coffee each, watching _Die Hard_. Later, Stiles would make cookies only for Derek and him, and Derek would tell Scott to go to Jackson to get help with his relationship problem of the week, because it was the first snowfall; and it was for Stiles and Derek, and no one else. Even later, Stiles would answer a call of Lydia's with only the word 'snowfall', and she'd hang up on him before he could on her. Stiles would tease Derek that the pack thought the first snowfall meant they'd be spending the day debauching each other, and would scream and laugh his way upstairs when Derek pounced and chased him, tackling him onto the bed to make him laugh harder. 

Eventually, the Christmas decorations would go up, and the pack would fill the house to bursting with life and laughter and holiday hell. And Stiles would be quieter, but Derek would be louder, and he'd make Stiles remember how to laugh if something made it hurt enough that he forgot. Christmas morning would find them lying in, making love slowly, and breaking the promises to each other of no gag gifts that year. It wasn't perfect by a long shot. Perfect would have Stiles's mother teasing them; would have the Hales mocking them. Perfect would have no careful avoidance of a repeat performance of the year Scott had pushed Derek too far and had thrown out words off-handedly that had hit Stiles like a bullet, too. But it was more perfect than Stiles could've hoped for; more than he could've ever thought to expect. And it was his.


End file.
